“Will that be all?” she suddenly asked.
Was that disappointment in her voice? Was it possible she expected them to have a normal marriage with him seeking her bed only for relief? Silly chit. Didn’t she realize he knew of her scandal?
He frowned when he realized he truly knew very little of what brought her to him. It was possible her only guilt was to fall in love with the wrong man and put the cart before the horse, so to speak. Then again, he thought as he looked at her, the fault could have been the man’s. She was a dainty little thing, and certainly put together well enough to entice any man.
He suddenly decided to see what she would think of his decision to not touch her. “Yes, that will be all,” he sighed and leaned forward to perch his elbow on the table. She started to rise. “Where do you think you are going?” he demanded. She resumed her seat quickly.
“You said that w-would be all,” she stammered. “I . . . thought I was dismissed.”
Grinning crookedly, he shook his head unseen. “I meant that care of my house was all the wifely duties I would expect you to perform.”
Her head lifted immediately and she seemed to relax. “Oh, thank you,” she sighed.
Ransom was not sure whether he was more stunned by her words or the impact of her eyes. “This would please you?” he asked, perplexed by what could only be a game.
“Y-yes.” She swallowed hard. “It would please me greatly.” His dark brows drew together in a frown. “I . . . mean I do not care to . . . I would rather not—”
“Enough!” Ransom roared. Her stammering conjured up mental images of what he knew she did not want to do. He saw her jerk, startled by his outburst. “Leave me,” he sighed, tired of her game. The moment she scurried from the room he noticed she had not eaten a single bite. “Alice!” he called.
“Yes, Cap’n?”
“Have a plate taken to your mistress. She was apparently too nervous to eat at our first meeting.”
Alice filled a fresh plate, then left him alone. He should let this woman go hungry. It would serve her right for feigning shyness. He supposed it was the only thing she could think to do when he presented her with the facts of their relationship. She could hardly demand her wifely rights.
Finished with his meal, Ransom quit the table to return to his library. He half expected to find Holden there, but he must not have had time to return from the ship. Ransom poured a brandy, then went to the window. He felt his mind begin to relax slowly. He sighed. Why was he so upset with that woman? He cared not a whit for her. She was a stranger. There was simply no reason for her to make him lose his otherwise firm control.
He settled into his chair, then turned it so he could stretch out his legs to perch them on the sill. With his ankles crossed he leaned back comfortably. He had not lost his temper when he was set up so finely by Lady Marshant. He had taken it in stride, even shrugging off his exile from England. So why did this little wisp of a woman have him shouting?
He yawned and recalled how tired he was. Perhaps that was the reason. Maybe he was simply too tired to put up with the nonsense of a wife—especially since he never expected to have one in the first place. He had no need for an heir in a free country where any man could build his own empire, no matter his background. As to the relief a woman offered, there was many a tavern wench anxious to turn an extra coin. Besides, not since his youth had he required a fertile field to sow every day.
When he felt the need for a woman arise, he would see to it with little or no complications. After all, the only emotions connected with such pleasures were momentary, passing with the act. Never in his life had he lost control or mindlessly taken a woman like some men boasted. In his mind, those men were either fools or liars.
A rap on the door startled him. Holden entered without permission, as was his habit. He went to the liquor cupboard and poured himself a drink. Ransom noted that he seemed to be struggling with a grin. “What is so amusing?”
Taking his favorite chair, Holden gazed into his glass. “Actually,” he grinned, “it’s your wife.”
“My wife amuses you?” Ransom asked. A muscle twitched in his cheek.
“Indeed! I am trying to figure out if she is a child in a woman’s body or a simple-minded woman.”
Ransom wasn’t sure he wanted Holden thinking of her at all, but he asked, “How so?”
“Well, if she is a child, it would account for the blushes that came to her cheeks when I spoke to her and the incredible shyness she struggles with. But if she is truly the woman she appears to be, she must be simple minded or she would know she could well lead any man a merry chase with one look from those incredible green eyes.”
Ransom slammed both hands on the desk and jumped to his feet. His body barely contained his fury. “It is also possible she is a consummate actress! Did you ever consider that?”
Rubbing his lip, Holden shook his head. “No, that never occurred to me.”
Fully aware Holden was thinking of Catherine at the moment, Ransom kicked aside his chair, stood and faced the window. His fists were balanced on his hips. “I knew this was a mistake,” he grumbled. “I never should have let my father convince me to wed her.”
“Are you mad?” Holden chuckled. “If nothing else, think of the dinner we just had. My God, man! We should be thanking her.” Ransom only shrugged. “And there are clean linens on my bed. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve slept in a clean bed?”
“What’s your point, Holden?” Ransom rubbed his brow.
“My point is . . . ” Holden stood to pace. “I don’t think you should be treating her like some whore.” Ransom whirled about, his face darkened with rage. “Hear me out,” Holden coaxed. “She is as much a pawn as you in this. I doubt she was anxiou s to be shown the door to all she had ever known to come to some unknown land and wed a stranger.”
Ransom’s tension eased. He did hold similar thoughts. Holden continued.
“It is possible that she is afraid and lonely. Yet she has made an honest effort to see to your home, despite the fact that she had never seen you before today. It seems to me, my dear fellow, that she was trying to make the best of it.”
Ransom felt a bit ashamed. His friend was completely right. She had made no demands on him, not even a request for clothing with all hers lost. Her gesture had been unselfish, almost magnanimous. “So what do you suggest?” Ransom finally sighed.
“I suggest you at least treat her as you would a friend of the family, affording her the courtesy of good manners.”
Ransom snorted. “I’ll try.” His voice sounded committed. “But only if you let it drop for now.” Holden nodded and turned for another drink. “We should be thinking about the latest reports on the troop movements, not some lightskirt.”
“Ransom!” Holden glared at him.
“Alright!” Ransom threw up his hands in defeat. “Let’s discuss the reports and not my wife.”
* * *
Catherine touched little on the plate Alice had brought her. Even with assurances that Ransom was concerned about her welfare, she could not eat. She was sure his concern was shallow and he was really wishing she had died. Recalling his overbearing authority, she pushed away the still full plate and fidgeted.
This was a terrifying man. He absolutely reeked of power. If he wished, she knew he could make her do whatever he wanted. Hadn’t he made her say his name? Of course, he had guised his order as a request, but she knew there was no way he would bend if she disobeyed.
It was at that moment something occurred to her—he had to ask her name! When her own name slipped out before she recalled he was expecting Sabrina, she almost swooned, but he seemed unaware. Was it possible he cared so little about this marriage he had never sought the name of his would-be-bride? No matter why he didn’t know it, she thanked the fates he did not.
Reveling in her good fortune, Catherine added a special thanks for his promise that she would not have to play his wife to the fullest. When she first saw him, she tho
ught he was the epitome of virility. She was terrified to imagine what he might expect of her. Fortunately, he seemed disinterested, and she was going to make sure he stayed that way.
As long as he was in residence, she would make herself scarce. There were plenty of rooms she could work in during the day that had still not seen the full results of a good cleaning. There was also the root cellar and the smokehouse left to see to. Since Ransom was known for short visits, she doubted there would be a problem.
She opted to retire early and removed her clothes, though she would have enjoyed a book. She recalled his order to stay clear of the library. Perhaps, if she did run into him before he left, she would ask him to choose several for her to take to her room.
Thoughts of asking him for anything made her shiver and, in spite of the remaining warmth of the day, she burrowed deep beneath her blankets. To find some peace, she began to plan the next few days. The garden. It needed to be prepared for seed. Then there was the ironing . . .
Catherine fell asleep listing her mundane chores, but they weren’t what occupied her dreams. She tossed fitfully, fearing a Satanic figure in black.
* * *
Lucifer’s hooves churned up the earth as Ransom rode him over the countryside. His strained anger seemed to have transmitted itself to the horse. Never had the stead raced with such abandon. He tossed his magnificent head until Ransom finally pulled on the reins to bring him to a halt. After patting the horse’s heaving side with appreciation, Ransom dismounted.
“You like a wild ride, don’t you, boy?” The huge black head tossed as if replying in the affirmative. Ransom smiled. “We’ll have to remember to thank the lady of the house,” he added coldly. His smile evaporated.
He led his horse to the shade of a tree and dropped the reins to let Lucifer munch on the new spring grasses. Removing his coat, Ransom tossed it over the saddle before he strolled toward a felled tree. To relax, he drew a deep breath, blew it out, and sat with one elbow perched on his bent knee.
He needed this ride. He needed to get away from his house and his exasperating wife. She was wearing on his nerves. At first, he attributed his short temper to fatigue, but after a very good night’s sleep in his clean bed, he realized she was the cause.
It wasn’t that she set out to rile him. In fact, she made every effort to avoid him—and that was the crux of the problem. He leaned back on his arm. For a woman who was supposed to have caused some sort of ruckus in London, she was certainly steering clear of him.
The discovery meant one of two things: she was up to some devious plot, or she couldn’t bear him. Her cat-and-mouse game disgusted him. He snorted. She had used different excuses to ignore his requests that she join him for dinner the past two nights. It would have been the only time they saw each other all day. How could she imagine rendering soap and pouring candles was more important than his invitation?
Both evenings he was preparing to drag her to the table when Holden reminded him of his pledge to treat her fairly. Damn the man. Holden was supposed to be his friend, not her champion.
With a deep sigh, Ransom decided everything might be working out for the best. After all, he was the one who had decried a relationship with the woman. Wouldn’t it be easier to remain distant if they did not share a table?
He rose and whistled for Lucifer to return for the ride home. Perhaps he was making too much of the situation. Let her putter with her chores. What harm would it do? He would be leaving on the afternoon tide the next day and could well endure the present situation until then.
He threw his leg over the back of the large black steed and turned toward home at a more leisurely pace. He wasn’t sure if it was to allow his horse an easier ride, or because he dreaded another tension-filled evening.
Resolved to get through this last evening, Ransom drew Lucifer to a halt on the rise to look down on the backyard of the house. A sound floated over the hillside. Fire pulsed through his veins. It was the melodic laughter of a woman. He drew closer and tensed. It was the gay laughter of his wife.
* * *
It had been such a long time since she had had the opportunity to haggle over the price of goods. Catherine could not resist tossing her head in merriment. Her uncle, bless his heart for his kindnesses, would not allow her to engage in blatant household chores, despite her pleas to help. Bowing to his request, she had become a lady of gentility. But she hadn’t realized until now how much she had enjoyed the simpler life she led with her parents.
“‘Tis too much coin for vegetables that are not fresh,” she parried, seeing the light in the farmer’s eyes. He clearly knew the game and enjoyed it as much as she.
“There ain’t no fresher less’n ya pick ‘em yourself,” he defended.
“Ha! No doubt they are wormy.” She threw up her hands and turned to walk away.
“Half then, Mistress.” He sighed heavily, but Catherine knew it was the price he was hoping for all along.
She turned, unable to hide her joy, and nodded. “Done!” They were in the process of exchanging his wares for her coin when she broke out in laughter.
The young farmer smiled. “You are a shrewd dealer, Mistress.”
“And you look to be a fine farmer. Your produce is superb.”
He chuckled freely as he stepped closer to help her carry the goods. “The same produce that is wormy?” Again she laughed. They entered the kitchen to deposit the fresh vegetables. In moments, they were back out in the bright sunshine.
“When will you come again?” Her head tipped with the question.
“Thursday.”
Catherine nodded. “Thursday should be fine.” She smiled. “Alice will make a list for you.”
She was ready to add something when her smile faded. The master of Devil’s Head was closing the distance between them quickly.
“Until Thursday.” The farmer turned at the changed look on her face. He saw the man approaching and speeded up his departure.
Catherine stood alone. With the joy of bartering gone, she decided retreat might be clever on her part as well. She turned; her head high. She was not going to let Ransom intimidate her. She had done nothing wrong.
Almost to the house, she wondered why he was returning. She had made sure he had gone out riding before she left the house. She was told he would not return until late. Since this encounter would be his fault, she reasoned, there would be no need for her to speak to him. She hurried on.
Several yards from the back door she was drawn up short. A wall of black moved between her and her safety. She gasped and took a step back, realizing it was his horse. He had intentionally blocked her path.
In a show of bravado, she looked up to find him leaning on his thigh, one side of his mouth lifted in a smirk. “Get out of my way,” she demanded, hating his arrogance.
“So,” he sneered, “the little mouse has claws after all.”
She whirled about to go around him, then cried out in exasperation as he maneuvered Lucifer into her path again.
“I am not through with you, madam,” he snapped.
Afraid he would dismount if she provoked him too far, Catherine sighed, resigned. “I have much to do, sir.” She stared at the ground and asked. “What is it you want?”
“I expect to see you at dinner this evening, madam, and this time I will accept no excuses.”
Fully aware her only chance to escape his perusal at that minute was to accept, she nodded. “I will be there, sir.” She moved around the horse cautiously, and he let her pass. It took every bit of her self-control to meekly walk inside. She wanted to run like the very devil was after her—because he was!
* * *
Ransom sat in the tub, a brandy glass in his hand. He should have relaxed in the warm water, but his body was still as tense as a bowstring. He concluded it was time to find a willing woman to ease his needs.
An image of Catherine laughing in the sunlight earlier made him groan. He recalled how strands of her hair had escaped her pins, and wisped about h
er cheek on the breeze. In her anger, he remembered her breasts rising and falling rapidly. She boldly asked him what he wanted. What, indeed?
He swallowed the contents of his glass and tried to concentrate on his bath, but wherever the soapy cloth touched, he imagined her hands caressing his body. “Damn her,” he groaned and rose from the tub, his body still partially covered with suds in his haste to be done. Naked, he moved to the window and prayed there would be a cool breeze. Unfortunately, only a warm whisper caressed him. He grumbled beneath his breath and concentrated on drying and dressing for dinner.
It wasn’t until he was nearly dressed that he realized he was wearing a white evening shirt. “Fool,” he groaned as it dawned on him he was dressing formally for the first time in years. He tossed his cravat on the table and hung his coat back in the closet. Damned if he would change his habits for her.
He tucked his half-opened shirt into his black trousers and pulled on his boots. Ready to brush his damp hair back to tie it, he decided it would serve her right if he played the barbarian that evening. Perhaps then she would cow sufficiently for him to rid himself of his recent doubts.
Abruptly, he shrugged off the notion. He secured the slender leather ribbon at the back of his neck. There would be no sense in alarming her prematurely by his appearance. He wanted her seated at his table when he chastised her for her behavior that afternoon.
* * *
Ransom entered the parlor to share a brandy with Holden. He positioned himself so he could see movement up or down the stairs. She would not slip past him tonight. Holden said something. Ransom shook off his anger. “What?”
“I said, will your wife be joining us this evening, or has she sent her excuses again?”
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